My Pillar, My Beacon
by HikaruAdjani
Summary: It takes a pillar of strength and a beacon of light to hold the dark side at bay. Luckily, the crew of the Ebon Hawk has both... (fem Revan/Carth) Spoilers. No... SPOILERS.
1. Chapter 1

The apartment was cold and there was that incessant dripping sound from somewhere, but a search for it had turned up nothing. The man sighed, shaking his head, before resting his forehead back on the pillow of his arms. He sat on the floor, his back against the only bed in the whole place. He should do..._something_. For her.

He craned his neck to take another look at the woman, carefully bundled in the bed behind him. He didn't even know her name, things had gone badly so quickly, and then she'd been unconscious and beyond asking. "Hey." He tried again, knowing it was futile. Unconscious was unconscious. At least she was quiet now, yesterday had been worse than today. She'd been delirious, fretful and way too hot to the touch then, but now she was still and chilled. He glanced down at the field med screen, forcing his gaze to ignore the scarlet admonition that he should seek medical attention for her as soon as possible. She'd just have to pull through without that, he wasn't carrying her any further through the streets of an enemy held world. And he wasn't leaving her here, helpless. No, he'd wait. Just as he had been for the past three days. And he'd keep caring for her as best he could. It had to be enough. If only he could have found a better place to hole up with her, someplace warmer, safer...but the galaxy was filled with his if only dreams. If only...

He fought that back into its corner, narrowing his eyes. Oh, no, he wasn't going there, not now. He shouldn't be thinking of a dead woman when he should be fighting for the living one, his crew-mate, behind him. He stood, torn. On one hand, there was so much he should be doing... finding other survivors from the _Endar Spire_. Finding Bastila. Not waiting around this apartment, doing nothing.

No, not nothing. He sat back on the edge, gazing at the woman for a long moment. He was helping a survivor, for all he knew, possibly the last other than himself. And Bastila was a Jedi. If she was still alive, then she should be more capable of taking care of herself than he could. But this one needed him.

"Hey." He murmured again, resting the back of his hand against her forehead. She was trembling, chill to the touch, and he grimaced. There really was only one answer to this... much as he'd prefer to avoid the obvious. He took his jacket and boots off, cautiously sliding under the emergency blankets he had pulled from the escape pod's survival gear. He'd had barely enough time to do that, and pick her up to vanish into the corridors of Taris, ahead of any Sith patrols tracking the pod's fall. It was a wonder she had survived, the impact had been devastating, and her side of the pod had taken the brunt of it. She was a fighter, he could sense it. All she needed was a hand, someone to help pull her through. And no one had ever accused him of turning his back on someone who needed him.

Her shivering calmed down at the wash of his body heat, and he smiled slightly, staring at her profile as he relaxed. He hadn't realized just how tired _he_ was, piloting through the _Endar Spire_'s end had been stressful, the evacuation and crash more so, and last night had been a sleepless one. He'd been running on adrenaline, but it was quickly fading. He was prone, in a dim, quiet room. He would have through that the idea of a woman in the same bed would be a reminder, bitter enough to keep him awake, but her proximity wasn't as awkwardly disturbing as he had been counting on. He focused on her features, trying to mesh them with just a few moments of memories from the _Endar Spire_... when she had been awake, aware, and on her own feet.

She was not a big one, thankfully he'd been able to pick her and the survival gear up in one go, easily enough. Average height for a woman. Average build. Not beautiful by any stretch of the imagination, she had an austere, chiseled face...as if her features had been rationed, nothing extra, nothing more. She had pale eyes when they were open, he vaguely remembered that, but as to which shade, he was uncertain. He'd been in a rush to get her, the last crew member on board the _Spire_, off of the _Spire_. The emergency lighting had been on, coloring her all in reds and pinks. If he had to guess, he'd hazard her eyes were light blue. Her hair was dead straight, true black. Again, it seemed as if she'd been given some sort of short shrift, just hair. No curls, no wave, no bounce. And the length was equally unimpressive, too long to be short, and too short to be long. That made sliding up next to her easier, he was confident that he could behave himself, and after just a moment, he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Sarah woke in a strange place. In a strange bed. With a strange man's arm slung over her hips. And she felt like she had come out fifth best in the world's worst bar fight. No, worse...this felt like death, barely dodged. She fixed a stare on the sleeping man with her, wary. He was only vaguely familiar, she'd seen him before. She should be able to place a name to him, as well. But she didn't _know_ him. She ran through what she did know in her mind, carefully cataloging her surroundings. Man. Check. Bed, check. It wasn't truly large enough for a couple, especially since her rather cozy companion was not a small one. There were no blankets, only crinkly and pathetic reflective emergency foil panels. She was still mostly dressed. He was still dressed.

And she was in a spare, dingy apartment. That was wrong. She was supposed to be on a ship... Surely she hadn't gotten intoxicated enough to take this guy, or be taken by this guy, to some truly cheap ass place like this? And get drunk enough to have the shit beaten out of her...? That made no sense, she'd never been that sort of woman. Certainly the man was appealing enough, but she didn't sense that the obvious was the truth...

He shifted, grumbled, and opened his eyes. Utter confusion crossed his face, stunned denial, and he sat up. That was a maneuver she wasn't willing to try yet, and she made a protesting cough when he let all of the warm air out. The apartment was not only dingy, it was freezing. "I don't know who you are, but lie back down." She muttered, and he obliged, awkwardly trying to find where to put his limbs without actually touching her again. "I.. uh... This isn't what it looks like." He sputtered in a hurry, watching her warily. He had a nice voice. Nice eyes. Not bad, not bad at all.

"Then what is it?" She should remember. All she was certain of was that he was blameless, she remembered...him. Grabbing her wrist, pushing her towards the escape pod. "We evacuated the _Spire_."

His expression was openly relieved, thankful. It gave him a boyish, earnest look...or maybe that was just how he always looked. He didn't seem to be that young, but he looked it. "You remember. After your concussion, I wasn't sure..."

The pause said it all. He hadn't been sure she was going to wake up, much less remember what had happened. "Yeah. We did. Our pod crashed, or was shot down... I'm betting on the latter. You were injured."

"How did I get here?" Wherever here was, exactly.

"I carried you." He gave her a slight smile, two loose locks of hair falling over his brow. "I have to admit, though, that I never caught your name. It's been a little...bizarre...watching over you without knowing it."

"Sarah. And you're...?"

The relief faded slightly from his face, his eyes were measuring, concerned. "Ah. Carth. I'd shake your hand, but that would let your heat out."

Carth. Carth. Carth...Onasi? She'd been cared for by, and was now giving an eye to the great Carth Onasi? It figured. "We're on Taris, Captain Onasi?" It was a little late to try to glue that back together, but she'd give it a decent try.

"Carth. Please. I mean...hell, we're in the same bed, we should be on a first name basis."

Yeah. Hell. What better way to put it? "Taris?" She questioned again, and he nodded.

"Yes, we're on Taris." He sat up, carefully tucking the foil in around her. "Now that you're awake, we'll be able to see just where we're sitting. It's imperative that we meet up with Bastila and get her off of Taris."

"How long has it been?" She sensed it had been long enough, and his expression confirmed it.

"You've been out for three days. Yesterday wasn't bad, the day before was the worst. I though I was going to lose you." His voice made it obvious that he would have considered that a terrible blow, even though he barely knew her. "Glad to see you open your eyes." He stared for a second, and then chuckled. "I thought they were blue."

"Nooo." They were gray, actually. "Three days. And we're it?" That couldn't be. If they had lost Bastila, then it was all over. That was a blow they might never recover from...

"I don't know, I haven't left here. Been lying low." He studied her, growling slightly when she tried to get her elbows underneath her to sit up. "Not yet." He passed her her own blaster pistol back, shrugging into his jacket and boots. "I'm going to go see if I can't find us some food and maybe some intel."

He was gone in an instant, the firm snick of the locks setting the door behind him. Sarah let him be gone for a good bit before she painfully managed to sit up and took stock of her aches and pains. There was a med screen on the floor beside her, and she caught it with a foot, turning it so that she could see its readout. Either Onasi had tampered with it, or he was telling the truth. It had been running non stop for over seventy two hours, charting her progress over that time, and what she saw was sobering. She had just come way too close to dying, and she owed him her life.


	2. Chapter 2

She finally talked herself into standing, it was probably foolish, but she was filthy and needed to pee. Bad. And she'd prefer to get as much of that sort of intimate care done before he came back. He'd obviously been forced to do too much of it already, but that was something she just needed to blank out. That was fine, blanking things out had always been a gift that Sarah possessed in spades. So many things were missing from her memories that she had long since taken the ability to forget as just part of her makeup. She was left with feelings, gut reactions to things. Although she could not remember ever waking up in bed with a man before, which should mean that she hadn't...ever... that internal knowledge laughed at that idea. She'd been with a man, or men, before. Somehow she knew that, understood that, even if she couldn't remember how, why, where or when. Ordinarily, that should mean some sort of trauma, but finding him in bed with her had definitely not spawned any sort of trauma induced reaction. She had been comforted by him, not terrified.

She relieved herself, trembling in the cold, and cleaned up as best she could, scraping her hair into a tail at the nape of her neck. When that was done, she came back to the small bed and wrapped one of the emergency blankets around her shoulders while she studied the med screen readout. Her first cynical thought had been that he had harshly rationed the med pacs that should have come with the screen, wisely giving her only enough to pull her through. She would hardly blame him, but the unit denied that. He'd used everything at his disposal, in a timely manner. She had just been that badly off.

He was gone for less than an hour, warily moving through the door as if he expected her to shoot him down. He grinned when he caught sight of her, sitting upright, and still wide awake, and it definitely seemed that the earnest look was his permanent mode. It seemed odd, her soul whispered that she had once had a taste for less wholesome sorts, but she saw no reason to hold that against him. There were many worse things to be trapped with than what certainly seemed to be a truly nice guy.

A waft of smell preceded him and she blinked. He smelled like food. Hot food. Not field rations...and she was suddenly famished. "I have food." He noted unnecessarily, and she nodded expectantly. She knew that. "I want you to start with the soup. If you can hold that down, we'll try something more substantial. And I got blankets, too."

And she loved him completely and fully in that moment, taking the cup of soup from him and peeling off the lid to take a deep smell of the contents while he pulled the emergency blanket from her shoulders and replaced it gently with a heavy, fuzzy blanket. It smelled not quite right, but she was willing to let it go. She was an easy sort to manage, happy with a cup of what could only be gizka soup and a blanket that smelled of its last owner. "It's good." She mumbled through a mouthful, and he smiled reassuringly. She would have lied in a heartbeat to make him feel better, even if the soup had been horrible, but it wasn't and it was good to not have to lie.

"You're looking much better." He noted, relief obvious in his voice. "Good, because we really need to get our bearings here."

Of course. Taris was under Sith control, and had both Carth Onasi and Bastila Shan down on it. To lose those two would be a blow that the Republic couldn't afford. Sarah was a nothing in this, just another Republic grunt, but the Republic's finest pilot and her best practitioner of the Force gifted battle meditation... without them, the Fleet might as well just hang it all up and surrender. "I'm good." She stated. She had to be, there simply wasn't any time to not be. He'd already wasted so much time taking care of her...when the smartest thing would have been to leave her. She was unimportant in the larger scheme of things, but he hadn't. She'd make it worth his time and effort, however she could. "We need to find Bastila." Hopefully, Bastila was alive to get off of Taris. Both she and Onasi needed to be off of this world as quickly as possible. Too damned valuable to be _here_. And, well, Sarah didn't want to be here, either. As a commonplace Republic soldier, her death would probably at least be quick and relatively painless...there was nothing to gain by drawing it out. But Carth, his death would be long, painful, drawn out and filmed for all the Republic to see. Hardly something that a hero of the Republic, what she now realized was probably just a really nice guy, deserved. And Bastila would not have the _luxury_ of death.

No, the only answer was that Sarah needed to suck it up and do what needed to be done. Now. She stood, setting her balance to accept her weight.

"No." Carth disputed, and she glanced over at him. He was eating something off of a stick, and his pose made it very obvious that he was going nowhere, fast. "We've waited this long. It only makes sense to wait a little bit longer. A hard wind would knock you over like this. Eat. Sleep. And we'll move out in the morning."

"Finding Bastila, and getting the two of you off of Taris is much more important."

And he did an earnest and completely stubborn look quite well, pointedly relaxing. It was obvious, she wasn't going to move him. He was much larger than she was, and he outranked her by a hell of a lot. If he was determined to stay put, then he was staying put, and by extension she was staying put. "Does this place not have a heater?" She asked, and he shrugged.

"No." He answered, "That's not just an excuse to share the bed with you. The unit looks like it was cannibalized a long time ago...it's a miracle we have water and lights from what I can see. We're not in the best of neighborhoods."

"Probably the best." A bad neighborhood was one not completely under the sway of the Sith occupation. They had more of a chance to hide that way. His response was to merely offer her one of the sticks, and she eyed it thoughtfully. The question really wasn't what it was, but how well her stomach would handle it. She decided it was worth the risk, and accepted it, sitting next to him while she slowly ate. Her belly full, it was all too easy to let her lids fall, and she slipped back into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Carth sighed, the sound tinged with utter sadness. She had fallen asleep, dropped like a rock exactly as he'd figured she would once she had something solid in her stomach and real blankets over her. Her head was pillowed in his lap, and against his better judgment, he smoothed her hair gently. He hated times like this, when it hit him so hard. Normally, he would go _do_ something until he could chase the memories away. If he just kept busy enough, he could hold it at bay. But now, he was locked in a tiny apartment with her...and she was pushing every button to remind him that it had been a very long time since he'd been this close to a woman. And there was nothing to distract himself with here...no vid feeds, not even a damned window to stare out of. He was alone with his thoughts, with his memories. "Well, hell." He marveled softly, lacing his fingers in her hair. He couldn't have been lucky enough to crash with a guy, could he? No. Of course not. Luck laughed in his face, as always. He carefully slid down in the bed, awkward until she shifted slightly to give him room. _Bad, bad idea._

Yeah, and so was sleeping on the cold, hard floor. He was too damned old for that now. When he was younger, he could bounce back. Now, he just bounced...no return journey involved. He made a defeated noise and slung an arm over her belly, shifting until he was finally comfortable. To hell with it all. She seemed to take to him well enough, and hopefully she wouldn't kill him if she felt a morning erection between them. That was beyond his control, and while he wasn't young...he wasn't_ that_ old, either. Neither was she... Not that young, but definitely not that old. But old enough to know better, thankfully. She hadn't melted into a weird puddle, even though she had to realize how much care he'd been forced to give her. No stutters, no blushes, no outrage. She just accepted it, and he was truly grateful. Now, they just had to find Bastila and get the hell out of here, before they were discovered. He had no deep rooted desire to die as a martyr to the Republic's cause, if he was suicidal, he'd have gone that route years ago... and he'd have done it in a much less painful way than the Sith would give him.

He woke up, not at all surprised that many of his fears had come to pass. He was wrapped up around her, one arm slung over her belly, his face in her hair, his hips pressed against her buttocks. And he did indeed have that morning erection...maybe if he just extricate himself carefully, she would be none the wiser. "Morning." She breathed against his forearm, the one she was using as a pillow, and he clenched his jaw. No, no extrication if she had awoken before he did.

"I'm..." What? Sorry? Horrified? Weak? Appalled? Well, yes, yes, yes and yes.

"You're just fine." Her voice was supremely calm, gentle, and she shifted out of his grasp. She looked a hundred percent better than she had just the night before, and she stood easily enough. She moved a little stiffly, a little slowly, but with no wobbling or real hesitation. "Let's go find Bastila."

Ah, so she was going to give him a reprieve, and he was more than willing to take it. He slid out of the bed, pulling his trousers straight, and settled his blasters in their holsters. "Agreed."

She nodded, settling her own pistol belt down, tying with the grace of long practice. "Can I ask you something?" He began, and she glanced at him curiously. "What do you do? I mean... I know you were a last minute addition to the _Spire_'s crew. That means I never got the chance to meet you, to know you..." In fact, that stank. He knew she wasn't one of the _Spire_'s flight crew, he knew all of those, he'd vetted them, trained them and worked alongside them. No, she had come at the demand of the Jedi council, when _his_ ship had been commandeered to be Bastila Shan's conveyance. And, in the period that Bastila had been on the Spire's bridge, this one was nowhere to be seen. She hadn't been in the officer's bunks, in the mess, or anywhere else that he'd seen. That had put her in the aft, with the grunts. The Jedi had demanded this, but she seemed to have no connection with Bastila whatsoever... at least that he could see. It was difficult to figure out the Jedi, and he rarely tried, except in situations like this. He had to depend on her...

"Recon. Insertion." She gave him a half smile. "I speak lots of languages, I don't stand out, I have good security skills and I'm a decent shot."

And that all sounded wonderful, except it raised even more questions why she was on the _Spire_ in the first place. Why would the Jedi want him to have this? Why would Bastila's presence call for it? Had they foreseen this? Had the Force itself hinted to them that he would be crashed on Taris, in desperate need of the skills she had so blithely just ticked off? It was a possibility, he supposed. He tried to ignore shit like this, he didn't understand it, and it bothered him. He tended to see betrayal, maneuverings, not 'the Force', and even when he did, that was no guarantee that it was benign. He knew that better than most people did. The greatest destroyers were those loved by the Force... Revan had been a superlative example of a Jedi...and an even more superlative example of a Darth. That debacle had cost Carth his wife, his son, his homeworld,cost his government millions of lives and was still grinding on. And it would continue to...unless he _didn't_ find Bastila. "Let's go, Sarah." He murmured, and she nodded, falling into step with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah had to admit, at least to herself, that his embarrassment was almost endearing. She'd never hint it to his face, but his expression had given it all away. Poor guy, all flustered over a hard on.

"So." She said, deliberately keeping the chuckle out of her voice. "What do we know, other than the obvious?" The obvious...the Sith held Taris. Bastila was nowhere to be seen. They had no ship. Somehow, the very weight of this should bother her more than it did. But few things honestly did bother her, she'd always faced her life with a nearly unflappable calm, as if she'd been through so much worse...but just couldn't place it. She just felt numb, anesthetized, when things got bad. "I..."

Knew Taris. She'd been here before, but couldn't recall when. Or why. She knew it was a cityscape, skyscraper cheek to jowl with skyscraper, not an empty, distant spot on the whole world. She knew without thought that it had never been a favored place, that she had always viewed it with some level of disgust. "Have been here before, but it's been awhile." As always, the memories slipped away, leaving the personal details out, but the concrete details remained intact. She pushed the thought away, she didn't have time for this. Even when she did, it didn't help. It was as if the more she focused on them, the more they slid away.

"I doubt if it's improved in your absence." He muttered, and she nodded. Things had been ugly then, and couldn't have been bettered by a Sith occupation. The worst of Tarisian society's views would only be inflated by the fuel of its new occupiers.

The hallway beyond the door was much more brightly lit than the apartment, and she blinked against the glare, depending on her other senses in that moment of weakness. But the hallway was also empty, echoing. It was obviously circular, fading from her view in each direction. It had an oppressive, watchful feel and she rested her fingertips on her blaster, her gaze moving to Carth. It was obvious that he felt it as well, his jaw had tightened and his eyes were narrowed... but they couldn't stay holed up forever. Even if they didn't have to find Bastila, they had to move... eventually the Sith would find them. She forced herself to stride along with Carth, matching his speed and stance, making it look as if they'd been together long enough to click together. Two strangers living together, traveling together, invited too many questions. And the fewer questions they got, the better. Let it look as if they were comfortable, at ease, long term.

It didn't take long to realize that the apartments were not empty, but it certainly seemed like the residents were going out of their way to avoid the pair. She caught glimpses of forms ducking into doorways, heard those doors locking behind them.

"Nice." Carth muttered under his breath, and she nodded slightly. How were they supposed to gather intel when no one would stick around long enough to be seen, much less questioned?

"Where'd you get the food last night?" She asked, and he shrugged.

"From the upper city, I pass well enough." He glanced her up and down, and looked less convinced at that. "You will somewhat."

She knew what she looked like already. She was wearing the only set of clothing she now had, and that had gone through a devastating crash...on her skin. It smelled of smoke, and was stained with blood and soot. "Somewhat?"

He made a scrunchy face, and managed to look even younger when he did so. "You're human." He noted bitterly, and she sighed. Taris had been a very intolerant society _before_ the Sith came. Now, the two would just feed off of each other, xenophobia and judgment all wrapped up. "Especially if you don't talk."

"That goes for you as well." He had a rather distinctive voice, and it suffered the same flaw as hers own did... they were both from somewhere out in the Outer Rim, far from Taris. Far from the Empire. She could, if she had to, put on a convincing Imperial accent, but it wouldn't fit with her present appearance. No, it was best to stick with her natural voice...for now.

"I know." He chuckled. "We'll see about getting you some clothes. You'll stick out less..."

Probably. Blood tended to draw attention. She had never been the sort who attracted much attention, easily overlooked, average looking... but here on Taris, things were different. It was a newly occupied world, and those were always filled with paranoia. Even the most mundane would run the risk of focus, the last thing she wanted. And if she stood out, then he shone. How the hell did they hide him? What a mess. What an absolute mess.

He chuckled, and then paused. A single male twi'lek stood in front of them, manning a thrown together vendor's kiosk, warily watching the two of them come. He oozed worry, and Sarah measured him for a split second. He was almost to the point of running...

"Hey!" She greeted sunnily, ignoring Carth's curious glance in her direction. He then stepped back, shadowing her as she moved forward to the kiosk. "Whatcha got?" She broadened her Outer Rim accent, making it obvious that she couldn't sound further from an Imperial if she tried.

"Best things, best prices!" The twi'lek was still not convinced yet, his gaze going from her face to Carth's. "You two must be the new ones... I didn't expect you to be...human."

"Yeah." She leaned in, gazing at the small items arrayed on the counter. "My name's Sarah." It was, just like the rest of her, perfectly normal and innocuous. Forgettable. "This is my husband, Devid." She gave Carth a slight motion. Play it straight. Don't overplay it. And pray that Carth played the same. He remained admirably straight faced, if a little silent, his gaze locked on her. That would work, he was coming off as the watchful spouse. Now, she just had to hear what she needed to know, without letting on that she didn't know.

"Ah." He was deliberately avoiding looking at the largest blood stains, his eyes locked on her face. "Terrible to be stuck here, with all the others."

Stuck. Interesting, she wasn't aware that 'all the others' were stuck as well. She grasped that she and Onasi would be...they couldn't just wander up to the spaceport and book passage off. The world was under Sith control...

"Yes." She sighed, embroidering the single syllable with equal parts exasperation and worry.

"They'll lift the quarantine eventually. They can't leave Taris locked down forever."

So, Taris was locked down. Fascinating. While the Sith tended to grip onto to their new acquisitions with a tight fist, to completely lock down a world was harsh even for them. Quarantine? Medical? Something stirred in her unreliable memories that said that was entirely too possible...

"Not soon enough." Nothing on the table in front of her was out of place, nothing was obviously from any of the _Endar Spire'_s escape pods. It was just the usual hodgepodge of salvaged items that these tended to have. _Come on, come on, keep talking... _

"When they find what they're looking for, it'll stop."

_Bastila. Only finding Bastila would be that important. They don't have her...yet. _

"How much for the shirt?" She'd barely glanced at it, but it fulfilled most of her needs...it was a shirt, it was intact, unbloodied, and it would more than cover her.

"Five credits."

She gave Carth a sideways glance, not even bothering to hide it. Did they have the money? It fit their circumstances, fictional and real.

"Fine." He stated with a bare nod, handing her a crumpled bill.

"You two have a ship?" The twi'lek asked, and she shook her head. No, that would be too easily disproved. Having a ship wasn't easily faked, especially without access to a dock, to a computer system to spike into.

"Nah." She handed him the money, taking the shirt from him. "We're transit pilots. On the return leg." It was easy, just let the story flow. Don't make too much of it. See it in her mind, make it real, and let it out. This was her job, it was what she was good at. As long as Carth stayed on the right page, it was good. "Thanks." She grinned, "We'll see you around."

She stepped away, pulling the shirt over her bloodied one and following a silent Carth to the hallway that must lead out from the apartments. She was waiting for something, teasing, questioning, even outrage, but he gave her none of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Carth knew when he was watching a professional at work. What he understood as her normal mode, a quiet, easily overlooked sort, had faded. Her features were nimble, everything about her was open and approachable. She just invited confidence, camaraderie, hell, _he'd_ be tempted to tell her everything. Although she never paused, never faltered, never blinked or hesitated, he knew she was making the entire thing up as she went along. And what she said made perfect sense. A married couple of transport pilots stuck here in the aftermath of the Sith occupation of Taris. It explained everything. Why they had no ship, no money, no affiliation, but were together. It was a little hard to swallow a woman he barely knew claiming something that only one woman had ever been able to, to be his wife, but he understood her approach. And he'd certainly never undermine her work by contradicting it. That would be tantamount to holding up a sign which read: "Republic soldier behind enemy lines." He had no illusions...if he was captured, that would all too quickly spin into "Highly decorated Republic soldier held by Empire." Which ended in a fairly obvious way, one he'd prefer to avoid. This was what he got for being assigned as Bastila Shan's driver, an honor, and a grave responsibility. Why hadn't _she_ sensed the Imperial Flagship, _Leviathan_, lying in wait? If he'd just had some warning, any warning...

Hell, who was he fooling? The _Spire_ had been yanked out of hyperspace, stagnated, blinded, by the main Imperial flagship. There was nothing he could have done, and it was just one more failure that Karath had heaped upon him. One more indignity, one more blow...

A touch, gentle as moonlight, landed on the back of his hand, and he was startled out of his reverie. She was staring at him out of those pale gray eyes, a faint line of concern between her dark brows. The amiable mask was gone, he had her back...calm, serene and focused deeply on him. It was an oddly soothing feeling, as if the very weight of her presence, her attention, could push back his internal demons. Oddly, he felt _safe_ around her, and there were plenty of reasons why safe should be the furthest thing from his mind. He didn't know her, and he'd never been quick to trust. "What?" He demanded, and she shrugged.

"You seemed a little far away."

"Right." And he shouldn't be. He needed to be right here, right now, not woolgathering. That would only get him killed, get her killed, and lose Bastila...the only chance that the Republic had to get through this. He could think about it all later, when...if...he got the chance. He just needed to focus on the task at hand.

It was late afternoon outside, and he blinked against the low sunlight. If he just glanced across the expanse, rooted by skyscrapers, it would look normal. Even wholesome, people going about their business, small groups, the occasional couple walking with entwined fingers. Children being children. But he caught too much he knew to be out of place... everything he saw was _human_. Not a single member of an alien race to be seen, and all of those humans were guarded by Sith troopers moving openly through the crowds. He wanted to watch them warily, to measure it all, but she stepped around him and headed forward, like she owned the place. No, like she belonged, leaving him little choice but to trail in her wake. That was fine, if she wanted to be the one to do the talking, to stick her nose into places while he followed and did his best too look ominous and protective, he'd do it. He was a pilot. He was a damned good pilot. On days when he was in a good mood, he'd even give himself the pat on the back to say he was one of the best alive, on both sides. When he was slightly intoxicated, he'd add on any side to it, and count himself equal to just about any around. His specialty was medium sized fleet vessels, large enough to pack a punch, yet still small enough for maneuverability. But that was simply his preference, he could fly damned near anything. He was a decent shot, if he had to be, had completed ground training with high marks, but he was not a ground pounder.

And he certainly was not any sort of recon or intel gatherer, he was much more likely to say something untoward, to beg trouble than someone with that sort of calling, that sort of training. She obviously had it, and he was more than willing to let her use it.

She seemed to be wandering at random, but he knew better. She avoided the largest groups of Sith guards, melded with passersby when her path brought her too close to them, but she still scouted quickly and easily. She checked every shop, every kiosk, chatted merrily with salespeople, before finally finding a cantina and slipping in. He followed closely, glancing over the crowd. Again, all of the patrons were human. The band, the dancers, not. It creeped him out, subtly, and he stared at the tail of hair on the back of Sarah's head. Focus...focus. He couldn't change a damned thing about Taris, it was all beyond his control. He needed to back up Sarah, and find Bastila. Come up with a plan to get all of them off of this planet, out of the hands of the Sith, and back to the Republic. That was his duty. He just had to keep that in mind.

She moved through the crowds, pausing occasionally to listen to an ongoing conversation, before she took a seat at a table towards the back, and he took the seat next to her without pause. He'd been married long enough to know how to play this game, as painful as that memory was. "Want a drink?" He asked, and she gazed at him for a long moment.

"Can we afford it?"

"Sure." It had been pretty easy to sell the useless survival gear in the packs... Taris was an ecumenopolis, they had no need of snow gear, climbing gear, tent, etc. Why people here had been willing to buy it from him, he was uncertain, but they had. "Why?"

She stared beyond him for a moment before extending her hand out in the universal request. His wife had done just that same thing, in pretty much the same manner. And later, his son. "How much?" He sighed in defeat, and she shrugged.

"I don't know, yet."

Oh, that was a dangerous statement if he'd ever heard one. It was even more dangerous when she took every credit he had, nodded, and headed resolutely towards the pazaak tables in the back room. He could only stare after her, before hiding his face in his hands. Just his luck.

"I know that look." And Carth certainly didn't know the voice, but he dropped his hands to stare at the stranger who had decided to strike up a conversation with him. He had the look of a ship's pilot about him, and Carth composed himself, gathering his wits about him. Hopefully he would not be recognized... "She any good?"

Carth could only hope that the 'good' in question referred to pazaak, and not something else. He was not in the mood for a cantina fight, especially when the authorities most likely to respond to it were the Sith he was trying to evade. "She better be, today." He chuckled wryly, staring into his drink.

"Your...wife?"

"Yeah." It was amazingly easy to say that, and oddly, he felt like the statement didn't fall flat. He stood, finally gathering the nerve to move up behind her, to watch. If she just broke even, he'd be content. If she could win a little, he'd be ecstatic.

And...if she was a pazaak shark, he'd be damn near orgasmic. She played with the same approachable smile she walked through the door with, plied the table with the same chitchat, and completely eviscerated her challengers. And she stood up just when the table's mood changed, right when it was going to start to get ugly and confrontational, waving at the nearest waitress. "Round for the table." She said, grabbing Carth's elbow as she turned. "It's getting late."

"Yes, dear." He drawled, falling into step behind her, happy to get out of the cantina and back into the night air. The crowds had thinned, but that simply made the Sith guards that much more obvious. He slung an arm around her shoulder, matching steps with her...doing his best to make it look easy. Just a couple, coming out of the cantina, not drunk, just pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. No problem, no threat.

"You two better hurry. Curfew in twenty minutes." The nearest Sith guard, encapsulated in shiny gold and silver armor, stated. It was odd to hear one of them sound so...human. Almost concerned.

"Oh, shit. Thanks!" She breezed, moving faster, and he happily kept pace. Of course there would be a curfew.

He remained silent until the door shut behind him, leaving them alone again. Her confident stride faded and she sat on the edge of the bed, before finally giving up and lying down. She was doing better, but she wasn't recovered...

"Well?" He asked and she opened an eye to stare at him.

"Nothing. Which means we go down. I'm sure the Sith are still looking for something, and I'm guessing that something is Bastila." She sighed, pulling the credits out of her pocket and counting off several of them, holding them out to him. "Half." She sighed, taking out her new pazaak side deck and ruffling through the cards.

"Half." And that was double what he'd originally given her. "So, Republic scout is your side job? A hobby to supplement your pazaak earnings?"

She chuckled, tucking them back in their box. "No...my pazaak habit is a supplement to my scouting job. It goes with the territory. People talk at a table after awhile, and it's something to do that's less suspicious than sitting around hoping people will talk in front of you. It's also a way to kill time on a ship... little surprised you don't play."

"I play. You don't play." There had been, in spite of her demeanor during it, precious little enjoyment in what she'd done. She'd gone into for money, and for information. She'd gotten both. Carth played socially, for the fun of it, for bonding and camaraderie. She worked at it. And she was damned, damned good at it, almost good enough to make him think she cheated.

"Fair enough." She breathed, shutting her eyes. "You caught me. I don't actually care for pazaak. But we needed the money, the info, and it's a fairly painless way to get it."

"Until you get shot up for cheating."

"Didn't cheat. And I won't go back to that cantina to play, I never do." She remained silent for quite awhile, long enough for him to think she'd fallen asleep, before she spoke again. "Anyway, come to bed. We'll work on getting down lower in the city come morning."

_Come to bed. _His heart seized and he closed his eyes. Why this? Why now?

"I don't think that's..." What? Wise? Logical? Safe? Unfortunately, it was all of the above. "What we should be doing. It's...improper. I, uh, outrank you." Yeah, that. It was a laughable excuse but the best he could come up with in a pinch. "I'll sleep on the floor." It had been one thing when she was injured, but she was well on the road to recovery.

"You outrank me, and you want to be the one sleeping on the floor." Her voice was gently amused, and he leaned against the wall, staring into the corner. He wanted his cabin back, safely, _privately_ his. Where he could mourn in peace. Where he could avoid facing shit like this, avoid hearing the little voice in his mind that reminded him that it had been years since he'd lost Morgana. He wasn't _old_. It wouldn't be terrible if he faced up to the fact that he was a thirty eight year old widower, and let some of that drop behind him. Morgana wouldn't have wanted him to be like this, clinging to her memory, and nothing else.

"What if I get ideas?"

"What if I _let_ you get ideas?"

Oh, ouch. He'd hoped for a little subterfuge, but no. This one was about as subtle as an Imperial task force. "You're still not even close to a hundred percent." That was much more of a valid argument, and her glance proved he had that one correct.

"True. So come to bed, keep me warm, and keep your hands to yourself."

He sighed in defeat, sitting on what somehow had become_ his _side of the bed and shedding his boots and jacket. He settled down next to her and she slept almost immediately, further proving the point that neither one of them was ready for anything. She seemed emotionally willing, but physically, no. He was physically able, but emotionally unwilling.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the same dream she had so often, the same room. The same bed. The same man. The same scene. It managed to be so much more vibrant and real than her memories could hope to be. Always, she woke up in an immense bed, swathed in crimson silks, next to a man she never saw. She would stand up, nude as the day she had been born, to walk across the gleaming black floor to the doors hanging ajar onto a balcony. She never went out, but leaned against the windows, half hidden in the lushly patterned drapes, and stared out at home.

It was a majestic, if ominous sight, a great city hidden amongst the trees, filling a gaping wound in the ground. Only the highest buildings rose above the line of the horizon, the rest of it was protected, obscured in the depths. The sky was roiling, turbulent, dark clouds lit by fitful flashes of lightning, but there was no wind. It was as if the very sky itself refused to settle, to calm. It was hot. Humid. She knew that even though her chamber was perfectly the temperature she preferred. Everything here was exactly as she preferred, because she was just that powerful. Even the man... he bowed to her will, if not her whims. He was hers. She dominated him, he was allowed here only because it pleased her to have him like this. Once, it had been different. Once, they'd been close. But in the dream, she wasn't even certain if he was willing or not, and it honestly did not matter. He was her lover of choice, and he got the job done...while his eyes simmered dark resentment the whole time.

_It's not real. _

The thought, as always, jarred her out of sleep...putting her back into a bed, with a man sleeping next to her. But the differences between here, and where she belonged, were legion. Here made much more sense. She knew where she was, Taris. She knew who she was in a bed with, Carth Onasi. She knew who she was, and who she wasn't. She wasn't naked, her sheets were not crimson silk. And she didn't own the man with her, which was rather a pity, but was also a challenge. And she adored challenges. But her major challenges right now were to find Bastila, and a way off of Taris. Soon. It had to be soon. "Carth." She raised herself up on her elbow and stared down into his face. Even asleep, he still had those persistent two strands of reddish brown hair falling over his brow, and she quelled the urge to brush them back. He opened his eyes, staring at her in confusion for a moment.

"Ah. Good morning, Sarah." He offered with a lopsided grin, and she nodded.

"Up and at 'em, Captain. Let's go get Bastila." The sooner, the better. Taris was beginning to feel a little more oppressive than it should, and she didn't like it. _Running out of time... _

She just had to figure out a way to get down below the civilized, gilded, and Sith controlled upper city of Taris...because Bastila probably wasn't up here.

He sat up, running his fingers through his hair and yawning. "Right." He stood, stretched, and then sat to put his boots on. "What did you get last night?"

She grunted in disgust. "The only way down is by elevator. And the Sith guard the elevators. We need to get by them." The pazaak players had been more than willing, after awhile, to point her in the direction of the next nearest table and a new set of unwitting targets... which was exactly what she'd been aiming for. The money would be useful, of course, but her true motivation had been to push them to the point where they'd want to get rid of her, but not far enough for an open confrontation. To be just annoying enough in her behavior and skills to be sent on her way, but not enough to gain true enemies to get in her way. "Means we need to take out a patrol." This early in an occupation, the Sith should not have had time to set up an adequate security net, especially if they were busy trying to maintain a planet wide lock down. They had to be pushed to the limits, and she needed to use that to her advantage. Keeping a couple of displaced space rats upstairs instead of down, where they would actually belong, couldn't be high on their priority list. But she'd still have to get past the guards. "Tell me about Bastila."

"Eh?" He gave her a distinctly odd look, as if that was the strangest question she could ask him.

"_Bastila_. The Jedi we're looking for...it would be helpful if I knew what she looks like. It might just make _finding_ her easier..."

Somehow, that question truly unnerved him. "Bastila? But...you should know what she looks like. You were part of her detail."

_I should know what she looks like. I was part of her detail. _That was news to Sarah. "I was told that the _Spire_ was under-crewed, that I was a last minute filler for her compliment."

"Uh...no." He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, staring at her. "When the _Spire_ was assigned to Bastila, the Jedi Council added you as part of the compliment. It was one of their demands when they took control of _my_ ship. They made it very clear that you were part of the package, that you went with Bastila."

"I've never met Bastila Shan. I've never seen her..."

_The young woman leaning over her was beautiful, her hand very warm as she clenched Sarah's fingers in her own. "You have to hold on." She breathed, as if she could will that into the very syllables. "You have to stay with me. Look at me! Stay with __me__!" _

"Really?" It was obvious that his trust was warring with his cynicism. "What does Bastila look like? Er... she's very pretty, I would say. Young, just a little taller than you." He made a vaguely embarrassed motion over his chest down to his hips, suggesting a more bounteous figure than Sarah happened to possess. "Brown hair, gray eyes. Wears her hair in two little tails. Kind of a snotty voice."

Yes, that definitely matched the woman that Sarah didn't remember, but did. She'd know her when she saw her...again.


	7. Chapter 7

Carth took a deep, long breath and held it. What in the hell was going on? She didn't know Bastila? How could she not? Had she been hurt so badly in the crash that she was having true memory problems, some sort of traumatic amnesia? She seemed almost fine, her responses to almost everything was spot on...until this. "Sarah?" He asked softly, trying to read her expressions. "What's going on?" Something was. He could feel it, sense it.

"Nothing."

"You lie better than that." She was a consummate actress, he'd seen her in action. That was a pathetic attempt, at best.

"I don't know why I was put on the _Spire_." She spread her hands. "It was supposed to be my return to service... I had an illness. I was in a coma on Coruscant...and since then, my memories haven't been quite right. I should have let you know sooner, I guess. But I swear, I do not remember meeting Bastila. All I get is a flash, a snippet..."

"Of?"

"Of a woman who matches that description telling me I have to stay with her. I have to hang on. But there's nothing with it, no context, no sense."

"Maybe you met her after you were already sick? It sounds like that to me." Why, why, put this on the _Spire_? Was Bastila responsible for her care? Watching over a charge that she had helped save from a terrible illness, but doing it from a distance? That made sense, and he was willing to take anything that even remotely made any sense.

She frowned thoughtfully. "Yes. I was sick. Very. Well, since it seems that Bastila helped save my life, all the more reason to go get her."

"We need Bastila back. The Republic needs her." Bastila had led the assault team that had killed Darth Revan, giving the Republic a rare victory, a rare blow against the Empire...to deny them Revan, their Dark Lord, their commander, their strategic mastermind. Bastila also possessed the essential force gift of battle meditation, one of the few weapons that the Republic could field against what seemed to be an insurmountable Imperial fleet. For every ship they destroyed, three more appeared... their only real edge was Bastila's gift. And now, she was down somewhere here on Taris. He had to find her, recover her, bring her back to the Republic. It didn't really fit into what he was comfortable with, truly adept at, but he...and Sarah...were the Republic soldiers in place to do this. Unless other members of the _Spire_'s crew showed up, they were the only ones who could find Bastila. "Let's go."

She nodded, her expression a study in calm acceptance. He only wished he could feel the same, but he'd never been a serene sort. His soul railed against injustices, fought against the darkness around him, struggled for peace on a daily basis. "Somehow, we have to find a way down."

"We will." She gave him a fleeting touch on the arm as she moved around him. "You'll see."

Hmmmph. He'd see. He fell into step slightly behind her, shadowing her progress. She seemed to think she knew where she was going, and that was more than he could manage. All he knew was he wanted to go down, and he knew that the most obvious way to get down would simply get him killed...one way or the other.

He heard voices, raised, angry, and she stopped in her tracks, her head tilted thoughtfully as if they were telling her so much more than they were telling him. She nodded, gave him a slight 'go ahead' motion at her shoulder, and stepped fully into the hallway just short of the ruckus. She had committed him, and he moved up quickly to cover her, getting a quick view of the situation. Sith patrol...and he was on the heels of a woman openly toting a blaster. Great. Fanfuckingtastic...

"Hey!" The closest of the Sith, obscured by the shining, segmented silver armor favored by patrol troops, yelped. "You two shouldn't be here, you're...humans!"

His patrol partner was faster on the uptake, already raising his blaster towards Carth. "They must be Republic spies!"

How he'd come to that all too correct assumption, Carth had no clue. He'd been very careful with his own gear, shedding everything that marked him as the captain of the Endar Spire, as Carth Onasi, as a Republic officer. And Sarah had been wearing nothing...absolutely nothing...that would have marked her as such when he'd gone over her unconscious body immediately following the crash. No implants. No tags. Of course, she was supposed to be insertion, it would only make sense that she maintained an unidentifiable, untraceable body.

She had developed an odd expression, puzzled and lopsided, like she smelled something bad, but couldn't figure out just what it was. Her first shot hit the trooper drawing a bead on Carth, and the Sith dropped without a complaint. Carth immediately switched his focus, he knew dead or unconscious when he saw it. No need to shoot the immobile, currently nonthreatening trooper when the other one was still kicking. A second later, he'd stopped that kicking altogether, and stunned silence reigned.

"Nice job." He breathed, moving closer and dropping his attention on the third form in the corridor, a shaking Duros with his hands up. "None of that." He muttered, motioning for him to drop his hands. It gazed at him out of blank eyes and he gave a sheepish shrug. They were damned difficult to read, and Carth had never been particularly adept at that anyway.

And he apparently wasn't that adept at reading females of his own species, because Sarah's expression was still oddly inscrutable... she still had that look, whatever it meant. "You shoot like a Jedi." He said, half hoping to please her, and half to get her to shift out of whatever this mood was. It was like she had taken a step away from him, from everything around her, and he didn't like it.

"Jedi aren't known for their blaster skills." She muttered, but the rebuttal did seem to shift her back into the here and now. "You're fine." She told the Duros, and it certainly didn't sound like any sort of question. It was a little harsh and commanding to be a simple observation, more like a parent considering whether or not to scold a shy child.

"I'm fine." He agreed, "Thank you for your intercession. I will...dispose...of the bodies."

"After we're through with them."

Unfortunately, Carth knew that was coming.


	8. Chapter 8

Carth took a deep, long breath and held it. What in the hell was going on? She didn't know Bastila? How could she not? Had she been hurt so badly in the crash that she was having true memory problems, some sort of traumatic amnesia? She seemed almost fine, her responses to almost everything was spot on...until this. "Sarah?" He asked softly, trying to read her expressions. "What's going on?" Something was. He could feel it, sense it.

"Nothing."

"You lie better than that." She was a consummate actress, he'd seen her in action. That was a pathetic attempt, at best.

"I don't know why I was put on the _Spire_." She spread her hands. "It was supposed to be my return to service... I had an illness. I was in a coma on Coruscant...and since then, my memories haven't been quite right. I should have let you know sooner, I guess. But I swear, I do not remember meeting Bastila. All I get is a flash, a snippet..."

"Of?"

"Of a woman who matches that description telling me I have to stay with her. I have to hang on. But there's nothing with it, no context, no sense."

"Maybe you met her after you were already sick? It sounds like that to me." Why, why, put this on the _Spire_? Had Bastila been responsible for her care? Watching over a charge that she had helped save from a terrible illness, but doing it from a distance? That made sense, and he was willing to take anything that even remotely made any sense.

She frowned thoughtfully. "Yes. I was sick. Very. Well, since it seems that Bastila helped save my life, all the more reason to go get her."

"We need Bastila back. The Republic needs her." Bastila had led the assault team that had killed Darth Revan, giving the Republic a rare victory, a rare blow against the Empire...to deny them Revan, their Dark Lord, their commander, their strategic mastermind. Bastila also possessed the essential force gift of battle meditation, one of the few weapons that the Republic could field against what seemed to be an insurmountable Imperial fleet. For every ship they destroyed, three more appeared... their only real edge was Bastila's gift. And now, she was down somewhere here on Taris. He had to find her, recover her, bring her back to the Republic. It didn't really fit into what he was comfortable with, truly adept at, but he...and Sarah...were the Republic soldiers in place to do this. Unless other members of the _Spire_'s crew showed up, they were the only ones who could find Bastila. "Let's go."

She nodded, her expression a study in calm acceptance. He only wished he could feel the same, but he'd never been a serene sort. His soul railed against injustices, fought against the darkness around him, struggled for peace on a daily basis. "Somehow, we have to find a way down."

"We will." She gave him a fleeting touch on the arm as she moved around him. "You'll see."

Hmmmph. He'd see. He fell into step slightly behind her, shadowing her progress. She seemed to think she knew where she was going, and that was more than he could manage. All he knew was he wanted to go down, and he knew that the most obvious way to get down would simply get him killed...one way or the other.

He heard voices, raised, angry, and she stopped in her tracks, her head tilted thoughtfully as if they were telling her so much more than they were telling him. She nodded, gave him a slight 'go ahead' motion at her shoulder, and stepped fully into the hallway just short of the ruckus. She had committed him, and he moved up quickly to cover her, getting a quick view of the situation. Sith patrol...and he was on the heels of a woman openly toting a blaster. Great. Fanfuckingtastic...

"Hey!" The closest of the Sith, obscured by the shining, segmented silver armor favored by patrol troops, yelped. "You two shouldn't be here, you're...humans!"

His patrol partner was faster on the uptake, already raising his blaster towards Carth. "They must be Republic spies!"

How he'd come to that all too correct assumption, Carth had no clue. He'd been very careful with his own gear, shedding everything that marked him as the captain of the Endar Spire, as Carth Onasi, as a Republic officer. And Sarah had been wearing nothing...absolutely nothing...that would have marked her as such when he'd gone over her unconscious body immediately following the crash. No implants. No tags. Of course, she was supposed to be insertion, it would only make sense that she maintained an unidentifiable, untraceable body.

She had developed an odd expression, puzzled and lopsided, like she smelled something bad, but couldn't figure out just what it was. Her first shot hit the trooper drawing a bead on Carth, and the Sith dropped without a complaint. Carth immediately switched his focus, he knew dead or unconscious when he saw it. No need to shoot the immobile, currently nonthreatening trooper when the other one was still kicking. A second later, he'd stopped that kicking altogether, and stunned silence reigned.

"Nice job." He breathed, moving closer and dropping his attention on the third form in the corridor, a shaking Duros with his hands up. "None of that." He muttered, motioning for him to drop his hands. It gazed at him out of blank red eyes and he gave a sheepish shrug. They were damned difficult to read, and Carth had never been particularly adept at that anyway.

And he apparently wasn't that adept at reading females of his own species, because Sarah's expression was still oddly inscrutable... she still had that look, whatever it meant. "You shoot like a Jedi." He said, half hoping to please her, and half to get her to shift out of whatever this mood was. It was like she had taken a step away from him, from everything around her, and he didn't like it.

"Jedi aren't known for their blaster skills." She muttered, but the rebuttal did seem to shift her back into the here and now. "You're fine." She told the Duros, and it certainly didn't sound like any sort of question. It was a little harsh and commanding to be a simple observation, more like a parent considering whether or not to scold a shy child.

"I'm fine." He agreed, "Thank you for your intercession. I will... dispose...of the bodies."

"After we're through with them." She stated, already moving towards them

Unfortunately, Carth knew that was coming. And he already knew which one of the troopers was closest to his size. The armor would be a little roomy, if he judged it correctly, but doable. Hopefully they could get the other, smaller, set to look passable enough on Sarah.


	9. Chapter 9

Sarah watched Carth out of the farthest corner of her eye, while acting as if she wasn't at all. For him to have the slightest hope of fitting into the larger set of armor, he'd have to shuck a whole lot more than just his high vis orange deck jacket and sturdy boots. He'd gotten to see pretty much everything she had, and it was only fair that she got a peek as well. She wasn't expecting a male wonder, he was not exactly young any more, and he had been a pilot for years, warming his ass in a chair. That often led to some pretty chunky examples of stick jockeys in her experience. It was obvious that he had not let himself go that badly, had not drowned his sorrows in calories, but as she'd suspected...and expected...he was not a paragon of brutal fitness. He carried enough weight to pad his edges, and she fought a sudden urge to wrap her arms around his waist, rest her forehead between his shoulder blades... He just looked exactly like he should, a perfectly normal man closer to forty than thirty. Why that was so oddly comforting, so oddly refreshing, so appealing, she couldn't even begun to comprehend, but it was.

"Hush, you." He growled, struggling to wiggle into the armor. "I don't want to hear it."

She shrugged, finally tilting her head to give him her blatant attention. Any response she could have come up with would be wrong...mentioning the fact that the dead previous owner of that armor had been close to half his age would only exacerbate his embarrassment. Mentioning the fact that the dead previous owner had been a Sith trooper, and those were held to a strict physical regime, likewise. But there was one thing she could mention that might make life a little easier...

"You haven't released the resizing catches." She stated, not even giving into the thought line of how she knew how to fine tune Sith trooper armor fittings. "Here." It was a fantastic excuse to step within reach of him, to fill her nostrils with his increasingly familiar scent. She hit the protected buttons set deeply into the hip mechanism with her thumbs, feeling the warmth of his skin as she did so. He took a blessedly full breath when the armor relaxed around him...and he gave her a gritty half smile in response.

"Thanks." He muttered, "Certain very important parts of my male anatomy give you their most grateful appreciation."

She rested the palm of her hand against the small of his back, and he jumped like she'd burned him. He spun on her, and his stare was equal parts betrayed discomfort and reluctant interest. That was fine, she could work with reluctance, as long as there was underlying interest. "What?" She asked, and he sighed.

"Look." He breathed, taking a hold of her hand. "You're very, very..." He grimaced, dropping his eyes to her hand. "Nice. I mean, lovely. I mean..." He clenched his jaw, dropping his grip on her. "Ordinarily, I'd be honored. Truly. But I'm just not ready for this...yet."

Yet. She nodded, dropping the thought and picking up the chest piece for the larger armor set and unlocking the catches with grace and practiced ease. She meant only to help settle it correctly on him, but he rested a hand on her shoulder when she turned back to him. "Hey." His voice was just barely above a whisper, his fingers firm. "It's not you."

She gave him the look that comment deserved, and he snorted in amusement. "Yes, yes, I know." He replied, taking the chest piece from her hands. "It's a terrible, terrible phrase, and the vast majority of the time, it's a cop out." He dropped the armor over his head, and stood still as she helped him settle into it. "But I swear, Sarah, it's the truth. Losing my wife... Well, that's something that I'm not nearly over. But I appreciate that you would think that way about me, I really do. Makes me feel good."

She smiled in response, if that was all she accomplished that day, then it would be a better day than most. She left him to figure out the helmet on his own, stepping into the smaller suit and locking it down in a matter of moments. It wasn't the first time she'd worn one of these...or was it? Damned if she knew. Damned if she could remember. All she knew was how it worked, down to the finest of details.

"Dare I ask?" She probably shouldn't, but she did anyway, and he paused. Even though he was now completely and correctly encapsulated in the armor, she could sense the shift in his balance, the tilt of his head as he considered the question.

"I'm from Telos." He finally stated. "She was killed when Malak's fleet bombed it." A longer pause, heavy...but she sensed he wasn't done yet and held on to her silence. "My fleet arrived too late to stop it. At least I got the chance to be there with her...at the end. I got to say goodbye."

Telos. There was the usual flurry in her mind as she tried to remember something, a scattering of information. This was a difficult one, it wanted to run away. If she focused simply on what she wanted, needed, it sometimes worked. When?

Four years. It had been four years since Malak's Sith fleet had bombed Telos into a dead world, a whispery memory of something that had once been beautiful, bountiful. Time enough to mourn. And now, it was time for him to live again. But not today, today they needed to find Bastila, and a way off of Taris. She slammed the heels of her hands together, watching the suit's systems come online. It all looked good. A quick check proved that it hadn't been missed yet, it was still linked into the network. She pinged her location, knowing that silence would be viewed warily, and waved Carth to follow her. The faster they did this, the better.

She strode quickly out of the apartments, dropping into a firm march with him. She'd already scoped out the guarded elevator on her previous scouting trip, and moved straight towards it like she had been on that path a thousand times before. It was easy to break the suit's security codes, easy as breathing, somehow she knew override codes that it accepted without even a momentary pause.

"Wait. Who are you?" The guard, armored exactly as they were, demanded when they approached the elevator. That was fine, Sarah had the answer to that, as well... the suit's internal computer had given over its identity string when it had accepted her override.

"A429dash11." She snapped off, and it came out in the precise cadence of a fine Sith trooper.

"Going down?" There was a wealth of commiseration in the return question, and Sarah gave the slight hand motion that was the equivalent of a nod for someone fully armored up.

"It must be done." All traces of her Outer Rim accent were gone.

"Ah, well. Good luck, then. Be careful though... those gang bangers down there will shoot at anything, including us. We should just gas the whole fucking warren."

And they would, if they only had Bastila. Sarah understood that implicitly. "Thanks for the heads up." Gangs? Gangs that would shoot at Sith patrols? That made them crazy and stupid, indeed. And there was nothing worse than crazy and stupid with a blaster. It didn't matter, though. Bastila was down there, and she was going after her. She had to have Bastila back...

_Why?_

Interesting question, but again, no time to ponder it.

_How could you have to someone __back__ when you don't even remember them in the first place? _

No. Not now. Not here. She couldn't be caught, and Carth was depending on her.

Carth.

That was enough to snap her out of the well of confusion that threatened to swallow her up. She wasn't about to drop the ball and just hand over Carth Onasi to the Sith. She owed him her life. He was a decent guy. He hadn't failed her, she wasn't about to fail him.

"No problem." The guard chuckled, and opened the elevator door for them.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a glory to watch, or in this case, listen to her work. It was like watching her become someone completely different than what he knew she was. Every response she gave was spot on, she wore the armor like a second skin. She had broken the computer locks on both suits without his even having realized she was attempting to...in just a matter of minutes. He could see his own suit's HUD readout, and it was all happy and cozy with the sudden change of user. He was down on Taris with an absolute master of her art, which was a miracle. Without this, they would have no chance in hell of getting out of this.

He remained stubbornly silent in the elevator, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that there were cameras, microphones covering it...watching her take the time to interface both suits and play with their settings, securing the transmission links between them.

"Is that wise?" He murmured, as if his whisper would make it less able for his lip mike to pick up his words. He knew, logically, that it monitored every single breath, picked up even the slightest of sounds he made...but it felt safer. The external elevator microphone would not pick up the whisper, however.

"SOP." She stated back in a normal tone. "You'll have to chin it over to wide broadcast if you would ever want to. Not that I think you would. Or should."

Oh, hell no. He wanted her to do _all_ of the talking. One, she was so much better at it than he was. Two, he was all too well aware that the Imperials had good recordings of his voice, and any voice matching program around would identify him with ease. "And..scramble..."

Indeed, his screens blurred into a split second of snowy distortion before settling back into clarity. Little had changed...except he now had the same string of numbers she had just parroted off as her own visible in the upper left hand corner. "Switched users between the two. You've got the suit of the higher ranker in that patrol, but I don't want you doing the talking." And she probably had a dozen more reasons to not want him to talk than he could come up with on his own.

"You're good." It was an honest compliment, but her response was a slightly sarcastic snort, and of course she had to come back at him with an answer he didn't want to deal with...

"You do not even begin to know how good I am." _But I'm willing to show you._

He growled, why, oh, why would he be stuck on Taris with a recon expert who had decided he was something to tease and chase? And why, oh, why was that such a temptation? Every other woman who'd given him eyes had been more than willing to walk, no..._run_, away when they'd discovered he came burdened with this kind of baggage.

_It's been a long time. _

A long time since he'd been touched, held close. A long time since he'd been truly anchored in the world of the living, walking forward instead of looking back. His personal life had become driven by ghosts and regrets, losses and revenge...

"We don't have time for that." In spite of the edge of panic she incited, the words came out almost jokingly. What in the hell was he doing, egging her on like this? She needed to know it simply was not an option...or was it?The idea stunned him back into silence, and he meekly trailed her off of the elevator, into the lower city of Taris.

Like the apartment pod above that he'd found to go to ground in, it was also silent, empty, filled with a furtive, measuring weight. "We need to get out of this armor." Obviously they were not going to find out what they needed to know, while masquerading as Sith troopers. Even he could figure that out.

"Yeah. We need to find a locker and a place to change."

He grimaced, safe in the fact that she couldn't see him. The less time either one of them spent without a full set of clothing on, the better.

Thankfully, they found an empty locker quickly, and she seemed distracted, or rather focused, enough to ignore the very short amount of time he spent stripped to his skivvies. In fact, she spent that time cautiously staring down the empty corridor, palms resting against the butts of her blasters. She had that odd, 'something smells bad' expression he was growing used to, evident when she was watchful, concentrating...but then, down here, something did indeed smell bad. It was obvious the moment he'd cracked the armor's seal and the air he breathed no longer passed through its filter system, that the air was stagnant and unpleasant down here. "It has a sensor suite." He noted, and got the barest flick of an eye in his direction. Yes, it did, and for that to work, she'd need to be wearing its helmet, but she'd been very quick to shed it, almost overly quick... he sensed an unease at odds with her ability to handle the suit itself. But she wouldn't be the first or the last who was claustrophobic locked down in heavy armor.

"The best the Sith can make." She replied, and he wasn't certain if that was an exaltation or a condemnation. "And I can't stand helmets. I like my brains intact, but."

He only nodded, shrugging back into his deck jacket. He hadn't worn a helmet in years, he was bridge crew. He captained _Hammerheads_. That was what he was good...no, _great_...at. The people who wore helmets on his ship were the ones outside of the bridge, trying to keep it secured... that was not his job. And it was obvious that the job she was great at would rarely have her kitted up in full armor, helmet with sensor suites, tagged and tracked.

"They'll track those suits."

"No. I disabled their tracking pods." She didn't fight her way out of hers as he had just had, but gracefully stepped from it and stowed it easily. He clenched his lip in reply, doing his damnedest to stare down the corridor as she had. She wasn't gorgeous, no. Morgana had been much more to his tastes, lushly built, with waving, curling auburn hair. She'd had a forthright beauty, difficult to hide, to obscure. But Sarah was a play of shadows, she could be downright lovely, as appealing as about any woman he'd ever seen, and then just flip it over and become perfectly run of the mill, unremarkable. He didn't understand how she could manage it, but right now, she was definitely moving back down towards unappealing. At that moment, he wasn't quite sure what he'd seen in her...

_That's not natural. _

No, it wasn't. He stared at her, trying to understand what he was experiencing. She was lovely. He _knew_ that. He'd seen it, and it was the most obvious when she was asleep...or when she was deliberately trying to attract him. When she was distracted or ill at ease, it faded away...as she seemed to.

"You were told there was another cantina down here?"

"Yeah, a pazaak salon with fresh meat." Her expression animated with a nearly feral intensity, and she was beautiful again. He almost wished she wasn't, but at the same time, it was wonderful to behold.

"Then it's time to go get this job done."

.*.*.*.

_You are cheating. _Sarah wasn't sure how. Wasn't sure how he was, and she wasn't sure how she was so certain, but she never ignored that voice that muttered and mumbled deep in her consciousness.

"Close. Another hand?" The man grinned at her, and she measured him silently...feeling Carth's dismay rising beyond him, although she refused to look in that one's direction. She still had control of this, it was all still good.

"No, I think...not." She shook her head, gathering up her deck again, focusing on the bright geometric pattern on their backs. No, she was certain, he was the problem, she knew how to play...

_"Come on, Squint. Draw or stand, make up your damn mind already..." _

_ "Hold your throttles, woman." _A male voice, edged with indulgent humor. She liked him, no, she _loved_ him. She once leaned on him, he had been a pillar of stability, a touchstone of sanity. They had been friends, partners, lovers...

More formless memories, wispy and completely without context. Also, completely useless. Now all she had was what must be a nickname, and a ghostly voice from the depths of her submerged memories.

"No?" The man across the table from her chuckled, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. "Getting a little too warm for you, sweetheart?"

_I've been around this block more than once. Rise to that bait, and there will be a fight. And no more information, no chance at more credits to keep them going. Time to shut this down, Sarah._

"Yeah. That's it exactly." She was too old and wise to play this one's games...all of them. "_Sweetheart_."

"Awh." His eyes flicked up, and she knew who was standing behind her now. Carth had moved around, and pointedly rested a hand on her shoulder, looming protectively over her. "Right."

Well, it was good to know that apparently Carth was good at protective looming...because he'd certainly raised caution in the man in front of her. Caution enough for him to stand up and leave the table in a hurry, glancing back often to make certain that neither Sarah nor Carth had moved.

"What was that all about?" Carth asked, his hand still resting firmly on her shoulder. "You're usually better than that."

"Eh. He was cheating, and his attentions were in the wrong place." No, that one wasn't open to giving her information, his attentions had been for his own benefit...her credits, and the occasional furtive glance to her face, her chest. Not like she had much there to offer...

"Cheating?"

"Yeah. Not going to call him on it...don't want a fight."

"Good call. We don't need the Sith down here to arrest us all." He gave her shoulder a squeeze before letting go of her. "Can you still get this done?"

"Probably. I'll bet he has a reputation down here already." He had been very quick to intercept her the moment they had walked through the cantina door...he'd smelled of desperation. She was willing to guess he had already burnt all of his other targets, which would make her a member of the group now.

She gazed around the cantina thoughtfully. Yes, this was much more what she was used to, much more normal than the one upstairs. A mix of races, heavily skewed away from human, Ithorians, Rodians, Twi'lek, all stuck below the upper city, waiting for the Sith blockade to be broken.

"Didn't take you long to shut him down."

Another man, human...older than the first to approach her, and she eyed him, feeling Carth fade back to give her room to work. The stranger sat in the recently vacated seat across from her, bluntly ignoring Carth as he did so. "Two hands to realize he was cheating. Means you're not bad... do you have the credits for a hand?"

"I do."

"Interested?"

Sarah sighed, smiling. "Of course."

He was a deliberate player, cautious but good. Not very talkative, but at least he wasn't cheating. The credits were welcome, but weren't really what she was here for. "So..." She began, and he flicked a glance at her over his cards. "How long do you think we're going to be locked down here?"

_Answer me. Tell me the truth..._

"Ah." He set down the next card, and she nodded slowly. Good play, ordinarily it would have been enough. Not today, though. She locked eyes with him, willing him to finally speak. "When they get a hold of the Republic soldier they're looking for. The woman."

_Bastila? _She could feel Carth shift uncomfortably behind her, but the man's gaze didn't flicker from her eyes. She still had him...

"Woman?"

He snorted with laughter, the spell over, his attention back on his cards. "Yeah. She came out of one of those Republic escape pods, and was picked up by one of the street gangs down here. Too dumb to realize what they're doing with her..."

She gave a quizzical tilt to her chin, and he only nodded. "The Sith are going to tear us apart looking for her, but they decide to offer her up as a _prize_ for a swoop race."

Sarah didn't bother to alter the first expression that wanted to jump up... Bastila, a Jedi...held as a prize by a street gang? It was hilarious, it couldn't be, but it _was_. She knew it. Somehow.

"So which gang do we owe this to?"

Ah, that one he didn't want to answer, and she let it fall, just like she let the winning card fall. He sat up, his eyes narrowed for a moment before he gave a reluctant smile. "Good game." He admitted, paying up with a lopsided smile. "But that's it for me."

Sarah was not surprised, but she'd gotten what she wanted out of him. He was free to go, and go he did. "You can sit." She murmured to Carth, pushing the chair out for him with her foot. "I'm done playing for now."

He sat, trailing fingers across her shoulders as he did so. She wasn't even certain he realized he'd done it, it just seemed natural, unthinking.

"I find it hard to think that Bastila would have been taken by a street gang, of all things." He stated softly, his voice pitched to not carry far. "I mean, she's a Jedi..."

"She may have been injured. Even Jedi can be knocked unconscious."

"True."


End file.
